


The fifth attempt

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [32]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges at the beginning of 4x1, F/M, Fluff, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25403710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Four times Jaime Lannister failed to get his point through to his wench, and the one time he didn't.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 16
Kudos: 115





	The fifth attempt

**Author's Note:**

> Some fluff today.  
> Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

“Blue is a good colour on you, my lady.” 

Finally, after an eternity of wantonly staring at her, he had found his tongue. “It goes well with your eyes,” he added, hoping the innocent compliment would distract him from the not-so-innocent visions floating around in his head.

“Thank you.” Her cheeks colouring, she patted down the front of the gown. “Septa Donyse padded out the bodice to give it the shape--”

She went on after that, getting into more elaborate descriptions of everything else Septa Donyse had done with it, but he was barely listening, his eyes unable to get past her ably-curved breasts, the not-so-shapeless waist held tightly by the fabric hugging it, her hips, those long legs beneath it, the--

“Ser Jaime?”

“I was saying--” he stuttered like a lad of ten and six. “It’s--”

Her blush was slowly devolving into something sour. “Yes? Go on.” 

He couldn’t, obviously, tell her that it made him want to rip it off her and fling her on the table--

“Women’s clothes make you look--” he began again, shaking off his troublesome thoughts, but the right words wouldn’t come. “Although… it isn’t as bad as the hideous abomination you’d worn in Harrenhal. It’s um... gowns like this--”

“--make me look uglier than what I am,” she wryly finished. “You’ve told me that in Harrenhal.” Her face had on its usual stony expression. “But don’t worry, Ser Jaime, I don’t plan to wear these often. So you will be spared of this punishment to your eyes.”

+++++

Frowning, she huffed away, but undeterred, he followed. “Where the hell are you going, wench?”

She turned on her heel, her face telling him that his remark had pissed her off. “Why the hell do you think you can stop me?”

“I never said I can.” He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “I only wanted to know why--”

“Because I have no interest in standing here and being insulted by you.” She looked livid, her eyes shooting sparks at him. 

“I merely expressed the possibility of you being a Lannister,” he argued, mentally kicking himself for not having got his intent through. “I didn’t--”

“You made a stinking remark at my looks.”

“I only made an observation that you didn't have the looks--” What was the matter with him? “I said it because you’re very different from Cersei.”

And he was in for another disappointment. Chin quivering, lips trembling, her shivering fingers gripped the wall. “You’re right. We’re as different as different can mean.”

Stunned, he gaped at her, but by the time he could recover and explain himself, it was too late.

“Your sister is a beauty unmatched, whereas I am--”

Without finishing, she fled from there, leaving him cursing himself and vowing to do better next time.

+++++

“Did you speak to your father about Sansa?”

Head to toe, she looked determined and focused on what she was here for. Her vow was her life and nothing and no one could steer her away from it.

“What do you expect me to tell him, Brienne?” If he had to be honest to himself, a part of him didn’t want her to leave with Sansa, for that would mean he might never see her again. “You think he’ll give up his daughter-in-law for the sake of your word to Lady Catelyn?”

She responded with a click of her tongue - impatience and displeasure at his lack of action.

“For all I know, he might insist on bringing home another daughter-in-law--”

“That’s not the point I’m trying to make, Ser Jaime--”

“He is desperate to find me a wife. And now--” his heart leapt, eager to put forth its point “--given that you’re the only lady around from a house good enough to be joined with mine, he might coerce me into wooing and wedding you, wench,” he said, hoping she might take a hint. “And that would be--”

“--the worst that could possibly happen to you,” she finished, her tone, subdued. “I understand your hesitation in approaching him, Ser Jaime.”

+++++

Finding her alone and staring into the fire, lost in thought, he decided to take a chance. “Why so sullen, wench? Do the comforts of the keep no longer agree with you?” 

“I’m quite comfortable, thank you.” Lips pressed together, fingers restless and fidgety, she looked far from that.

“Something bothers you.”

She took a long moment to make up her mind whether to spill it out or not. “It’s the rumours. They're still going strong.”

He frowned. “What rumours?”

“The Kingslayer’s whore, they call me,” she mumbled, pain and insult in those large eyes. “They think you and I--”

“Leave them be.” He poured out a glass of wine and offered it to her. “Take no note of people whose opinions don’t matter to you, my lady.”

Sighing, she took a sip. “You’re right, perhaps.”

Time rolled by, and they drank in silence; her, staring at the fire as if it would provide a remedy to all her problems, and him, at her, wondering if he could ever voice his thoughts, tell her--

“I must leave, Ser Jaime.” Leaving her glass on the table, she rose. “Good night--”

“What if they started calling you the _Kingslayer’s wife,_ instead?”

She stopped, gripping the edge of her chair. “What do you mean?”

“The kingslayer’s wife--” he began fumbling around in his mind. “Sounds better, doesn't it-”

“Now is not the time to jest, ser.”

“Brienne--”

But before he could seize a chance to defend himself, she was gone.

+++++

Her eyes were locked onto the sword in awe and admiration. “Why?”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason for everything, Brienne.”

She tore her gaze off the weapon, at last, to look at him. “A Valyrian steel blade made for the Lannisters, an armour built to perfection, a mare sweeter than the sweetest I’ve come across--” Lines creasing her forehead, she tilted her head slightly. “Why?”

“Because--”

Four chances he’d been given, and all of them, he had missed. It had to be now. Or it never could be.

He took the sword from her hand and mounted it back in its place. “Because I would like nothing more than for you to be a Lannister, my lady.”

She didn’t blink, didn’t move.

“Not because you’re the only woman suitable enough in my father’s eyes--” he stepped closer “--but because you’re the only woman I want, wench.”

Now she blinked, and her lips parted slightly, but she still said nothing.

“Because you _are_ different from Cersei--” he took her hand “--you possess an inner beauty none of us Lannisters can boast of.”

A soft pink blush began to creep up her neck, spreading to her cheeks where he liked it the most.

“The Kingslayer’s wife, I would ask you to be--” he brought her hand to his lips “--wishing nothing more than to see you walk into the Sept in a gown as blue as the jewels your eyes are.” Dropping his voice to the softest he could, he added, “Beautiful. Breathtaking.”

A smile, at last, she graced him with, shy and sweet and everything he’d been craving for.

“I tried, and I tried hard to tell you, Brienne--” he inched his face to hers, closer, to kiss her “--that I love you.”

He touched her lips with his, leaving on them, a delicate caress, the tenderness of a dew drop on a rose petal.

“You got it all right this time,” she said, her fingertips kissing his chest. “Except for one very important detail.”

He waited with bated breath for her to go on.

“ _Jaime_.” Her astonishing eyes were bright with affection, wholehearted acceptance and fierce pride. “Your name is Jaime. Not the Kingslayer.”


End file.
